The Curmudgeon

YOU'LL COME FOR THE CURSES. YOU'LL STAY FOR THE MUDGEONRY.

Sunday, March 17, 2019

The Father of Teeth

Text for today: Gingivitis lxxxiv-xcvii

Fortunately, however, the Father of Teeth saw a great plume of black smoke in the heavens, and by keeping it in sight at all times he managed to escape the perilous realms and find the path again. He repeated the time-honoured warning, "Never leave the path," but the others had long ago succumbed to weevils, lip-gout and the ravages of philosophy, not necessarily in that order. The plume of smoke grew thicker and darker, and its taste filled the crunchy air as the Father of Teeth came upon a great multitude all waiting in line. Men, women and children of all shapes and ages stood in orderly fashion, monitored by armoured guards who were thoroughly beweaponed and impenetrably shielded against any hanky-panky and who did not hesitate to take the most assertive precautions against anyone who stepped out of place.

Since the queue completely blocked the path, the Father of Teeth had little choice but to join it, but after only a few hours one of the guards clumped up to him and demanded to know the nature of his business at the factory. "What factory might that be?" asked the Father of Teeth.
"Why, you rank and vile impostor," said the guard, whose visor was painted with a rose-cheeked smiley-face in fluorescent pink; "what factory, you ask? You dare to plead ignorance while occupying a place in this very line, and without a dollop of make-up to festoon your blatant phiz?"
"Make-up?" asked the Father of Teeth.

For reply the guard grabbed the nearest few people by their scalps and spun them around one by one. Men, women and children alike were hideously plastered with powder and paint, all in the brightest primary shades, although their clothes were as ragged and faded as those of the Father of Teeth himself. "All customers of the factory present themselves thus," said the guard, spinning them back into their accustomed positions; "it is an ancient and much-honoured custom, dating from the old days before the great reforms."
"Indeed," said the Father of Teeth; "and what reforms were those?"
"Truly, your ignorance is most blasphemous," said the guard; "you are fortunate to have encountered me rather than one of my less tolerant colleagues, otherwise you might have had some of the black knocked off those gleaming gums of yours. Know then that in the olden days the factory took in people and rendered them down into usefulness, extracting certain essences to enrich the colour of the granules, in order to make them more appetising. From all I have heard, the process was quite useful and very nearly painless; but certain disruptive and subversive elements objected, saying that people should be destined for better things."
"Such as what, for example?" inquired the Father of Teeth, with genuine interest.
"Freedom and breeding and poetry and such," said the guard; "all the usual. And the people listened to these agitators, and began to disguise themselves with make-up so that the factory would be deceived as to their true colours, and would render them down to be used on a better class of granule. So the management proclaimed that a regular dose of granules was just the thing to keep you fit for the very best sort of granules, and from that day to this the queue has never shortened, the glamorous facial tradition has been maintained, and only the necessary daily minimum of persons have been bludgeoned for offences against the queue. Now, about this make-up of yours."

And opening a small door in his breastplate the guard produced a brush, a bottle and a powder puff, which scattered small clouds of pink dust to flatter the factory's black perfume. But the Father of Teeth had already left the path and, in defiance of the time-honoured warning, vanished once more into the perilous realms.

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